Eradication
by Dragynflies
Summary: She gave you everything, would have given you the world, if you’d only asked.
1. Chapter 1

You leave Wilson's office in a huff, hazed and confused and pissed as hell. Cameron is still sitting in the diagnostics lab and you hurl her Midol at her when she asks how your shoulder feels instead of answering.

Instead of snapping at you, she mumbles, "I don't need it anymore," and you stop short. She hands you a print out from the lab tests and you don't even need to read it to know what she is talking about.

She tries to smile at you, but you just glare at her, "Fantastic news, sweetheart," you say, but you don't mean it and your voice is biting. She blinks, startled, and you storm out, the stolen cane awkward in your grasp.

You don't come home for three days. You stay at the nicest hotel you can find and you order room service every night. It doesn't make anything better and work is horrible. She calls in sick twice and on the third day, she never speaks directly to you.

You go home, and you apologize, lamely. You tell her that the mess with Tritter is worse than you've let on, that Wilson is leaving, and that you got that news right before iher/i news and your brain just short circuited. She looks a little relieved and she tries to kiss you, but you push her away and you ask what's for dinner.

You spend the next nine months pretending to be excited. You go out at three in the morning, you bring her back her stupid ice cream and her stupid double cheeseburgers, and you let her put fucking anchovies on the pizza. She paints your office pink and moves your desk into the living room and she smiles at you when she unpacks pink fucking frilly dresses into the white dresser.

You know she's expecting a proposal, but you never ask and you don't have Wilson to go with you to pick out a ring anyway.

She goes into labor three and a half weeks early and you're out of town at a conference so Chase drives her to the hospital. You arrive three hours after the child is born and Cameron is sitting in the bed, propped up with pillows and she's holding her like she's the most precious thing in the world. When you walk into the room, she beams at you and holds the baby out.

You think maybe you're supposed to feel something for this thing, and so you smile and you pat the child's head. It's a girl. You already knew that. She asks you about names, and she's trying so hard but you hand the child back and you tell her to pick something, that you don't care.

You leave Cameron and the child at the hospital and you spend the night alone in the apartment and you realize you miss being alone. Too fucking late now and tomorrow, you go back to PPTH and pick up Cameron and the child and you take them home. Cameron is slow on her feet, but you don't offer to carry the child. She settles herself on the couch, and you go back to work for the rest of the day.

When the child is five months old, you finally tell Cameron what she's known forever; you don't want this and it's not working. She is oddly quiet, and she nods and doesn't sob and beg like you thought she would, but you see a tear roll down her cheek anyway. She goes to the nursery to pack a bag for the child, and then to your bedroom and she tells you she'll call you when she knows what she's going to do.

You don't stop her.

She calls you a week later and asks that you please have her things shipped to her family's house in Wisconsin, and you pack on autopilot. You don't know if you want to cry or scream or which way is up, but when her things are gone and there is no evidence that a child ever lived in your apartment save for the room of pink walls, you sit on your couch and alternate scotch with Vicodin until you pass out.

You ignore the stares and the questions. You do not tell Foreman and Chase where Cameron is, and six months later, when their fellowship is up, they leave and you don't talk to them again.

It is three years before you see Cameron again, and it's not on purpose. Cuddy has sent you to speak at a conference and you agree only because she's the only person from before that you still speak to. You give your speech and you are sitting at the bar with your fourth scotch when you see her.

She is talking to a man; his back is towards you and you have no idea who he is. She is smiling and the diamond on her hand keeps catching the light from the ceiling. She tugs on the hem of her shirt and you notice that her belly curves, not enough for maternity clothes but enough to make normal clothes awkward.

You don't intend to say hello, but she sees you sitting at the bar and you shrug at her. She approaches you five minutes later, a glass of juice in one hand and her purse in another.

"Greg," she says, not sitting down.

"Dr. Cameron," you nod, swallowing your scotch and pointing at your empty glass, the bartender refuses.

The corners of her mouth twist awkwardly and she sighs. She doesn't know what to say any more than you do, and you wish she'd never come over. You were fine without her.

"I didn't know you were interested in Nephrology," you snort at her.

"My husband," she says, and you think her response is probably autopilot, because after she says it she looks horrified.

"Not Dr. Cameron, then," you say, and you ignore the way your stomach twists. You threw her away, you didn't want her.

She sighs, "I kept my name. We work at the same hospital, it would be confusing, two Dr. Andrews."

"Still so independent," you say, but you're not sure why. She gave you everything, would have given you the world, if you'd only asked.

She nods, obviously uncomfortable and she sips at her juice.

"When're you due?" you ask before you remind yourself you don't care.

"July 20th. Three days before…her birthday," she says, and then sets the cup down. She digs in her purse and opens her wallet.

There is a moment of hesitation before she sets the picture down in front of you.

"She's doing fine," she says simply, and she walks away.

You stare at the child – red hair, icy blue eyes, your nose, your smile and you turn the picture over.

i_Blythe Cameron Andrews, three years old_/i


	2. Chapter 2

You stare at the name on the back of the photo for a solid minute before you flip it back over. You can't tear your eyes away from this tiny person who looks so much like you. She's wearing a simple white dress – must have been her birthday picture – and the smile on her face reminds you of when you used to smile.

Your stomach rolls and you think you're going to throw up. You grab the picture and your cane and you stumble out of the room, not even noticing the way her eyes follow your movements. You can't be here, in this room of people, in this room with her, because you screwed up and you are suddenly all too aware of how miserable you are.

There's a bench outside of the hotel and you drop onto its hard surface and lean your head back against the cool stone of hotel. With your eyes closed, you can try to pretend like you're not holding a picture of the one thing that could have made your life worthwhile, like you didn't throw away the only person who ever loved you more than herself.

It doesn't work, and you drop your head between your knees, fighting the nausea. You feel pathetic, stupid, and angry. Pathetic that one little picture could get to you like this, stupid for throwing them away and angry that it took you three years to realize what you'd done.

You didn't get to see her birth. You weren't there for her first word. Her first step. Her first anything. You weren't even there on her first day home, because you were an asshole and you left your girlfriend and your brand new daughter home alone the first day.

Why?

You think what makes this even worse is that you don't remember why you didn't want them. Because you thought you were supposed to be alone? Because the baby cried at night and sometimes she woke you up before Cameron could get to her? Because Stacy left you, and so Cameron was going to also, and you might as well push her and the baby away before she left on her own?

The baby. Blythe. Why did you never call her by her name? Did you not feel anything for her, or did you just not want to? You never fed her, you never changed her diaper, never got up in the night when she cried, not even when Cameron worked late and still had to be at work the next morning.

And she still hadn't left you. She was a saint and you were an asshole.

Your stomach heaves and you wish you'd never come to this stupid conference. You were never going to another one. Cuddy could fucking fire you, but this was the end. Losing your job would feel better than how you feel in this moment now, head between your knees, stomach rolling.

"Greg."

You look up just in time to see her sink gracefully onto the bench next to you.

The picture of the child…your child, Blythe, is crushed in your hand. You don't remember doing that, and you try frantically to smooth it out. You didn't want to do that.

You look over at her. She looks good. Happy. You don't remember if she looked like that when she was with you. She's got pretty little diamond earrings and a matching necklace and there's a rock on her finger that tells you that her husband has found his princess. Around her other wrist is a bracelet of beads on yarn.

She looks loved.

She takes the picture out of your hands and smoothes out the wrinkles that she can before handing it back to you. If she notices the way your hands are trembling, she doesn't say anything.

"She's amazing," she tells you, "She starts kindergarten in the fall. Robert had to take her in for special testing before they'd let her in, but I think she'll do well. She can read already – she reads everything. She does ballet after school, she really likes it, but she likes her little science experiments book better. She says she wants to be a doctor when she grows up."

She sounds proud, but you catch a note of hesitation in her voice.

"I'm sorry," you say, and your voice breaks. She takes your hand and you remember the way you used to fit together, like you were made to be together, "I don't know why…" you start, but you don't finish. It's too late now, anyway.

"He loves her," she says, her thumb brushing over your skin, "like she's his. He's never made her feel like she's anything less than perfect."

You shouldn't be jealous. You have no right to be jealous. You had your chance. If you'd done things differently, Blythe would still be yours and that rock on Cameron's finger would be from you and that baby growing in her womb would be yours too, and you'd have given your damn speech at this stupid conference and you'd have taken her home, instead of sitting at the bar, alone.

Cameron untwines her hand from yours and digs in her purse again. She pulls out a little photo album.

"Here," she says, softly, and you open the plastic cover. Blythe, six months old. Blythe, a year old. Blythe, 2 years old, at their wedding. Sitting with their puppy. A beaming man, Blythe on his hip. She doesn't look like him. It doesn't matter. Cameron on a tire swing, sitting on the man's lap, your daughter in her lap.

When you look at her again, you know you have tears in your eyes. You also know that this is as close to meeting your child as you will get, and you won't ask for anything more.

She stands up and kisses you, her lips against yours and you want nothing more than to wrap your hands around her neck and pull her to you and never let go. Tell her you're sorry, and that you don't know what happened and that you want to take your daughter and take her and go home.

She pulls away, runs her hand over your cheek, and you notice she's crying too. She closes her eyes for a moment before meeting your gaze, and her voice cracks when she talks.

"Goodbye, Greg."


	3. Chapter 3

If all you do is work, you don't have time to feel. Your new fellows are probably just as competent as your previous, but you don't have the energy to care about them. Diagnose the patient, get them home, lather, rinse, repeat.

It's been two months since you came home from the conference. You did not tell Cuddy what happened, but you wonder if she knew that Cameron would be there. You have Blythe's little photo album hidden in your desk and you find yourself lost in the limited pictures more often than you'd admit to anyone. You want more. You want to hear her voice. You want to see her little ballet recital and teach her about medicine and read her a story at night.

You remove the picture of Robert, Allison and Blythe because it makes your stomach twist to think that he gets to raise the child you threw away.

You sit alone at night with your Scotch and your Vicodin and your Tivo and you remember. Cameron was sitting next to you, curled up against the arm of the couch, not in your arms, when Blythe had kicked for the first time. She'd jumped and squealed, and grabbed for your hand, but you'd tugged it away and snapped at her for interrupting…whatever stupid show you were watching.

You'd never felt her stomach. Never felt the baby move. One more thing to add to the list of things you fucked up.

You wish you had a good excuse, a reason for pushing them away. A reason for not driving straight to Wisconsin as soon as you knew where she was, and begging her to come back.

You think your life is easier alone. Maybe you always thought that. But easier is not always better, and you wish that you had gotten up with Blythe just once, so you'd have some memory of just the two of you to think about.

You want to cry when you realize you can't think of one. That for five months, your daughter lived in your house and you never once took the initiative to interact with her. You held her that first day in the hospital, and you…are sure you held her again, but you can't remember.

Three months after the conference, you get a letter. Your hands are shaking so hard you can barely open it and you send your fellows home for the day because you don't want to deal with them.

_ i Greg –_

_I hope you are doing okay. I miss you, and I wish I didn't. Things were okay until I saw you again, and now I don't even know what to do…_

_ i _

There are some black lines where she's crossed out words that you can no longer make out and then:

i _Blythe has a ballet recital. Her first one. If you would like to come to see her, there will be a ticket waiting for you at the desk at the front of the building. /i _

There is a date and an address, and you can't help the dry laugh when you realize that she only lives an hour from you.

i _Blythe understands that Robert isn't her biological father, but he is her daddy. I'm writing instead of calling because I don't know what you want, and I don't want you involved in her life unless you're willing to both understand your place and understand that I will not have her hurt. If you don't come, I understand. If you want to come to the concert and see her dance and leave, I understand, and I won't ask questions. If you want to join us for dinner, you are invited. But I will not have you come back into her life and leave her again. I won't put her through that. /i _

There is a phone number, and Cameron's girly signature and a picture of Blythe in her little pink tutu.

You call the number without thinking about it, because if you think about it, you won't do it. A man answers, and for a moment, you think about hanging up, but you find your voice.

"This is Greg House," you said, and you hear Robert clear his throat, "Could…is Cameron there?"

"Let me get Allison, Dr. House," Robert says, and you hear the phone clink down and voices mix with a barking dog and Dora the Explorer. A little voice that could only be Blythe yells, "Rapido, mama, telefono!"

Your child knows Spanish, and for some reason that makes you want to cry. You want to teach her everything you know. You want to take her to Spain when she graduates high school and show her everything you love.

"Hello?"

"Was…was that Blythe talking?" you ask, instead of saying hello.

A light chuckle from Cameron, "She loves Dora. Her nanny speaks Spanish; she's helping her learn…you got my letter."

"I did," you say, ignoring the way your heart constricts, "I…I want to meet her. I won't leave again. I'm sorry."

You can almost see Cameron nod over the phone, "Alright," she says, and her voice doesn't sound at all sure, "After her concert, we were going to take her to McDonalds. If you want, you may sit with Robert and me."

You hear the hesitation in her voice, and the fear, and you hate yourself for making her sound like that. You're the reason she has to be on edge at all, the reason she's upset.

"I…I'd like that," you say, though you can't think of anything more uncomfortable than sitting with the woman you love and her husband through a ballet recital of toddlers. But you will take what you are offered, because you know you have no right to ask for anything.

"Alright," Cameron says again, "I…we will see you then. Can we meet you in the lobby?"

"Yeah," you say gruffly, and there is a horrible awkward pause and you swallow hard before you speak again, "Thank you, Cameron."


	4. Chapter 4

You are going to crawl out of your skin. You don't know if you're supposed to be excited, or nervous, or call Cameron and tell her you're sick and you're not going to be able to make it to the concert today, and you're really sorry but probably Blythe is better off without you anyway.

You shrug on your jacket and you clutch your cane so hard that your knuckles are white. You're going, you have to. This is your one shot, and if you fuck this up, you're not going to get another chance.

You stop on the way to the theatre and you buy a little bouquet of pink roses. Little girls like flowers, right? You should know if your daughter likes flowers.

Cameron and Robert are waiting for you when you enter the lobby and you take a deep breath and walk over. Robert has his hand on the small of her back, and she looks pale. You clear your throat and extend your hand to Robert, who shakes it.

"It's nice to meet you, Dr. House," he says, and you think Cameron has found the one person in the world nicer than herself because you know if you were in his shoes, there would be no hand shaking.

You shake his hand, "Likewise, Dr. Andrews," you say and Cameron looks a little less pale. You turn to her, but you don't know what to say to her. She is leaning back against Robert like she's scared of you, and her palm is over her rounded stomach protectively. You'd forgotten she was pregnant, she was hardly showing at the conference, but that was almost four months ago.

"Her song is up third," Cameron finally speaks, "so we should get our seats."

You nod and you follow them into the theatre. You sit on Cameron's right, and Robert on her left and you watch him reach over and take her hand and turn your head away and swallow. No one said this was going to be easy.

You watch the first two dances with half an eye, because watching the little girls mess up dance steps is better than watching Cameron and her husband. The third song starts and Robert pulls out a video camera and Cameron leans over to you, her palm warm on your leg and she whispers where Blythe is, pointing out the tiniest child on the right.

You think you're going to cry. Those pictures you memorized don't compare to seeing her in person and you don't take your eyes from her once. The three-minute song is over before you realize and when she scampers offstage with the rest of her class, you want to go after her.

The rest of the concert is awkward anticipation, and when it ends you follow Robert and Cameron back into the lobby, where a hundred little girls in tutus are running around, screaming joyously. Your eyes scan the room looking for her and suddenly you hear the same little voice you heard on the phone.

"Mama, mama I didn't mess up! I membered all my steps, Mama!" and a little redheaded fireball launches herself at Cameron. Cameron laughs and scoops her up, cuddling her and kissing her face. Robert kisses her little cheek and then Cameron turns and sets Blythe down in front of you.

You can't seem to find your voice as you carefully lower yourself to your knees, so you can be closer to eye level with Blythe and you hand her the little flowers.

"Hello, Blythe. I'm Greg," you tell her, and your heart screams that you're her i daddy /i but you're not, and you have to accept that.

"She knows who you are," Cameron's soft voice filters over, and Blythe looks at the flowers and then looks back at you. You realize that while she looks like you, she has Cameron's tiny bone structure and all of Cameron's mannerisms. She's the perfect mix of the two of you, and you gave her away.

She gives you a smile then, and she steps towards you and wraps her tiny arms around your neck. Your heart stops and for a minute you are frozen, but then you move and you wrap her in your arms and this is your daughter, and she's here.

She kisses you on the cheek and beams at you, "Did you see me dance?" she asks hopefully, and Cameron takes the flowers from her before she crushes them.

"I did," you tell her, "You were very beautiful, Blythe." i And I'm so, so sorry I left you. I promise I'll never leave you again. I promise that I'll do whatever I can for you. /i 


	5. Chapter 5

You think you might be happy, but the emotion is so foreign you're not sure. You're allowed to pick up Blythe once a week, and you spend the afternoon with her. You are aware that Robert is a better man than you are, and on good days, you are glad Cameron has him.

On bad days, you think about keeping Blythe and bringing Cameron too. You want your family back, but they are no longer yours.

Once, you picked up Blythe from her nanny because Cameron and Robert were at a doctor's appointment. Robert's been to every single one of her OB appointments and he keeps a picture of their son's ultrasound in his wallet. You didn't go with her once. You don't even think you saw Blythe's ultrasound pictures. The baby isn't even here yet, and he's already more proud of him than you were of Blythe the entire five months you had her in your life.

The first few times you picked her up, you felt awkward and you didn't know what to do with her. You took her to the park and you let her climb around on the jungle gym, and you took her to McDonalds afterwards and watched as she climbed around in the tunnels. She is impossibly small, but no one ever messes with her. She has your glare.

The fourth time you pick her up, she answers the door with Cameron, leaning on a stick.

You raise your eyebrow at Cameron and she shrugs, "She's got a bad leg," she says dryly and you scoop up Blythe in your arms, laughing.

"If you've got a bad leg, I'd better carry you," you tell her and she giggles and curls into your chest and you see Cameron gulp. You choose not to acknowledge it, and instead you say that you'll bring her back after dinner. Cameron nods and shuts the door, and if you weren't hampered by the cane and the little girl in your arms, you'd never have heard the sob from behind the closed door.

You take her to an indoor children's museum and there's a giant mouth, with a tongue as a ramp for the children to climb through, to pretend they're being eaten. Your daughter climbs up the tongue.

"Daddy, there are no tonsils," she shouts to you, then, "I'm sliding down the esophagus!"

Daddy. Your daughter is a genius and you're her daddy. No. Robert is her daddy. And as much as you want her to be yours, you know that this is not what Cameron intended, so when Blythe climbs out of the throat, all giggles and static-y hair, you take her off into the corner and you kneel down right by her.

"Honey," you tell her softly, and you don't know what to say, "Blythe. I can't be your daddy. You already have a daddy."

Her blue eyes open in shock and her lip trembles, "Mama said I could have two. Mama i said /i you were my daddy."

You can't help the way your jaw drops and you blink stupidly at your little girl, "Mama said I was your daddy?"

"Yes," she says clearly, "Mama says that you're my daddy like how my other daddy is the baby's daddy," she says, trying to explain, "Mama says that even though I live with her and daddy, you are my daddy too and you love me just as much as she does. You just can't live with us because you have your own house, and because you have an important job."

"Oh," you mumble. You weren't expecting that, but it is so Cameron to let you have this. Let you have her, even after everything you've done.

"Don't you want to be my daddy?" Blythe shrieks, eyes suddenly huge.

"No, no, no, Blythe, I do. I'm so happy to be your daddy," you tell her and she wraps her arms around you and clings in that way only children can.

When you drop her off, Robert is nowhere in sight and Cameron is crying. You ask her what's wrong, but she just shakes her head and takes Blythe from your arms, shutting the door in your face.

You stand outside the door for a minute, debating knocking again and finding out, but you remind yourself that she is not yours, and it is none of your business. You give her another minute to open the door up and talk to you, but you're not really surprised when it doesn't. You shift your cane in your hand and you leave, because you don't know what else you can do.


	6. Chapter 6

Robert calls you at 2:30 AM on June 21st. You can tell by the panic in his voice that you are his last resort and he begs you to come get Blythe, because Allison is in labor.

You don't remember her exact due date, but you remember it was near Blythe's birthday, and you DO remember that. July 23rd. You remember because you were at a conference, and you were thankful to have missed the big event. Now you just regret it.

You tell Robert to put Blythe in the car and that you will meet them at the hospital in their city, because you don't want them to waste an hour waiting for you. He thanks you half a dozen times before you hang up and throw on some clothes.

You didn't know your car could go this fast, and you think if you get pulled over you'll just have to knock the cop out and keep going.

You get to the hospital only fifteen minutes after them and Robert hands over Blythe without a second look before running to Cameron's delivery room. You look at your daughter, and she stares back at you with solemn eyes.

"Mommy cries," she tells you, and hugs you. You kiss her forehead because you don't know what to tell her.

"You have to walk like a big girl, because I have to carry your car seat," you tell her and she obediently releases your neck so you can set her on the floor. You hate your cane right now, because it's so obvious that your little girl needs to be held, but you can't juggle the car seat and Blythe and manage your cane without someone getting hurt.

She stays close, and you notice she matches her stride to yours, whether on purpose or by coincidence, you're not sure.

"Mommy didn't have time to pack me anything," she tells you as you fumble with the straps on her car seat – you think you should be better at that by now.

"You can sleep in one of my shirts," you offer, "and in the morning, we'll go out for breakfast."

Blythe beams and you wonder when her smile started to make your day, "I love you, Daddy!"

You swallow, because if you answer her, you'll choke on your own tears. Instead you nod, and you shut the door to your car.

You take her back to your apartment and you realize this is the first time you've had your daughter overnight since she was a baby. You tuck her in on an air mattress in your pink office, and you tell her a story about a princess who had to save a prince from a dragon, because you don't want her to think she can't rule the world one day.

She wakes you at six when she crawls into bed with you, and you're tired but you don't care. You drag her little body onto your chest and you tickle her and then you think that Cameron should be here.

But Cameron's at a hospital an hour away with her husband and hopefully a stalled labor.

You take Blythe out to breakfast, and you keep your cell phone on you in case Robert calls to update you, but you do not call him. You won't.

After breakfast (she ate three pieces of French toast, and you wonder where it went, because she's quite possibly the most delicate child you've ever seen) you take her to the store and she picks out her own clothes. You don't know how long you will have her for, and she's having too much fun, so you let her pick out enough clothes for a week. You hate that you have to check the tags in her clothes to see what size she wears.

You take her to the toy department and you set her down in the aisle of pink Barbies, and you are amazed when she glares at you and wanders off to the aisle where the books are kept.

"I don't like them," she says, pointing at the boxed dolls, "They're stupid. Doctors don't play with Barbie dolls, doctors read. Besides, mama said no one could really look like Barbie and that it is an," she pauses, and it is clear she's mimicking Cameron, "unhealthy stereotype. But I have baby dolls!"

You buy her all the books she points at, and a teddy bear to sleep with. In the checkout line, you can't resist her little smile when she asks for a candy bar. It is 10:30 in the morning, but you give it to her anyway.

If you had stayed, you think she would be Daddy's little girl, and you want to give her the world.

You are just buckling Blythe into her car seat and marveling at how much easier a smile feels than it did even two days ago, when your phone rings. It's Robert, and his voice sounds tired.

"She had him last night," he says, "He's going to be fine, they just want to keep him in the NICU awhile for observation. Can you keep Blythe another night? I want to spend time with my son."

You were with him until that last sentence, but something about the way he says it makes you queasy. You agree, trying not to sound like you're over the moon, and you tell Blythe she's a big sister.

You weren't expecting her to burst into tears, but you unbuckle her car seat as fast as you can and you pull her into your arms without a second thought.

"What's wrong?" you ask her, "Mommy had a baby, you have a little brother."

"Because now that he's here, Daddy isn't gonna want me," she sniffles, and your heart breaks, "I heard him tell Mama. I heard him say he couldn't wait for the baby because he wanted a real kid. I'm real, Daddy," she says plaintively, "I'm real."

Oh, no. This isn't about you, but this is your fault. Now she's been pushed aside twice in her short little life. And if you hadn't done it the first time, this wouldn't be happening now.

"That's not what he meant, Blythe," you tell her, but she gives you a look that tells you she's smarter than you're giving her credit for and so instead you just hug her again and put her back in her car seat, "Let's just go home, okay?"

She nods, and sniffles and you dig around in the shopping bag and pass her a book to look at.

You make pizza that night and you're feeling horribly domestic. You know this could have been your life; you could have had everything Robert has, and you want to kick yourself again for throwing them away. But now you have your daughter back, and it's something. And it makes you want to do better by her every single day for the rest of her life.

You let her sleep next to you that night, and you lay awake, watching her. She trusts you, and you don't deserve it. If she knew what you did, she wouldn't be able to love you. She shouldn't love you.


	7. Chapter 7

When you take her back to Cameron and Robert's house, Cameron is there but the baby is not. Cameron is sitting on the couch, clutching a coffee mug like it's going to make something better. Her eyes are red and her cheeks are splotchy, and smile she gives Blythe is only half hearted. Your amazingly perceptive child pads over to her and crawls carefully onto the couch next to her.

"I love you, mama," she says, and pats her arm. Cameron gives Blythe another tired smile and kisses her forehead before she looks to you.

"Thank you for watching her," she says, polite even though her pain.

"Anytime," you tell her, "When is…"

"Nathan," she says dully, "Nathan Robert. I don't know. A week?"

You nod, "Do you want me to take Blythe? When he comes home?" Blythe shrieks happily from her mother's lap.

"Please, mommy? Please let me stay with daddy, because I love daddy!"

Cameron closes her eyes and leans her head back against the couch, and you feel awkward but you stumble over to her anyway. You sit down next to her and place your hand on her shoulder. You are not expecting the armful of Cameron you get when she flings herself at you and buries her face in your chest.

You nod to Blythe and ask her if she'd please go play in her room, and she does without a second question. She's far too observant for her own good, and you know someday, she's going to shock the hell out of people with her intelligence.

Cameron has your shirt in her little fists and you're trying not to jar her, because she just gave birth two days ago. Your mind flashes back to the day she came home with Blythe and how you never even offered to carry the baby, but you can't think about that now, so you run your fingers over her soft hair and breathe in her scent.

"I don't know what I did wrong," she mumbles into your chest, and you assume she's talking about going into labor a month early.

"Sometimes it just happens," you soothe, "Babies sometimes just come a little soon, but he's going to be fine. A couple nights in the NICU, let his lungs grow, he'll be home and waking you up at midnight before you know it."

"Blythe didn't do anything wrong," she whispers into your chest and you feel your heart constrict.

"What are you saying?" you ask her carefully, rubbing her back.

"He…he always loved her so much," she mumbles, not making eye contact, "He always did. Loved her so much I changed her last name to his. I thought…I thought he wanted her. He was always so good with her, Greg, and he told me that she was his, even though she wasn't…"

She is sobbing now, and you don't know what to say.

"He's so happy that Nathan is here," she finally sobs, "He said he was glad he had a real child! I asked him what Blythe was and he told me he'd raise her because he loves me, but she'd never be his, especially now that we had our son. I told him to leave, I couldn't look at him."

You want to hit him. You're all too aware that when you threw your family away, he took them. He took them both, and you can't have them because HE has them and now he doesn't want your beautiful, intelligent, amazing daughter.

Cameron doesn't need this, her first day home from the hospital. First day home with Blythe you left her alone, you're certainly not going to leave her alone now that you have another chance.

You untangle her from your arms, and you settle her on the couch and you call for Blythe, who comes running. You don't even have to ask her, she just crawls right into Cameron's arms and kisses her. Cameron gives you a watery smile and wraps her arms around Blythe, holding on tight.

You walk into the kitchen to make them something for dinner, and so that you do not blow up at Cameron and load her and Blythe into the car and take them home with you. You don't care whose baby Nathan is; he can come too. You will not let some other man treat your child like she's not amazing. You spent three years doing that and you have a lot to make up for, and it's starting now.

You feed Cameron and Blythe and then you stand awkwardly at the door, trying to decide if you should leave or stay. Cameron isn't giving any obvious hints, so you kiss your daughter good bye and you tuck Cameron in on the couch with a blanket and you leave.

When you get home, you shove the air mattress into the corner of your office. You clear out a drawer for the clothes you bought Blythe and you put her books on the bookshelf. You think you should move your desk out and buy Blythe a real bed.

You grab a bottle of Scotch and a glass and sink onto your couch. Suddenly your apartment seems too small and too quiet. It has never felt this empty before.


	8. Chapter 8

Robert calls you six days later. You haven't seen Blythe or Cameron since you dropped them off, and you were waiting for the phone call.

"My son is coming home today," he says, and his voice no longer sounds as nice as it used to, "I want to know if you'll pick up your child for a few days so that Allison and I can spend some time with just Nathan."

Your child. When did Blythe become more yours than Robert's? You tell him you'd be more than happy to come get your daughter, and you will be there in an hour.

You pick up Blythe from Cameron, who hands you a little backpack she's packed. She looks incredibly pale and while she's excited about bringing her son home, you notice she holds on to Blythe just a little tighter than normal. You set your daughter in the car seat you purchased – you were getting sick of transferring, and she's so small she's going to need one for at least another year -- and you shut the door.

"Thank you," Cameron mumbles, her eyes on the ground and you look around for Robert before you take her chin in your hand and make her lift her eyes to you.

She blinks and pulls her face away from your hand, but you saw her eyes.

"Go get Nathan," you tell her, "Congratulations."

"Yeah," she says softly, "Thanks."

You and Blythe do not speak all the way home. You let her into the apartment and she goes straight for your office, running out a moment later.

"Daddy, where's your desk?"

You nod your head to the corner of your living room and smile at Blythe, "Princesses who slay dragons need their own room, don't you think?"

You're glad you never painted the walls.

Blythe stays with you for two days before you have to go back to work, and you bring her with you. You finally sit down with Cuddy and explain the situation, and you throw yourself on the mercy of the daycare at the hospital. You've never begged for anything, but you need a spot. You need your daughter.

You think the woman is lying to you when she says that there is a spot, that another child had just started an in-home daycare and that there is room for Blythe. She's not lying, and you feel like you could cry with relief. You manage to retain your image and not hug the employee, and instead you give your child a hug and she starts her first day of daycare like a champ.

Another two days, and Cameron finally calls. She wants to know how Blythe is, she wants you tell her that her mommy misses her and that Nathan is settling in, and you finally play your hand.

"He doesn't want her, does he?" you ask, taking the phone into the other room so that you do not disturb Blythe's cartoons.

A ragged sigh, "He…she can come home, if you're sick of her," she says, and you catch the challenge in her voice.

"I'm not sick of her!" you shout, and then drop your voice, "I just want to know what's going on, Cameron."

"She's fine," she says, "She can come back whenever. I'm just tired. Nathan doesn't sleep well, and Robert doesn't wake up when he cries."

You never got up with Blythe either. You should have. You should have gotten up with the baby and sat up while Cameron breastfed and you should have been there, and now Robert is doing the same damn thing to her.

"Do you need help?" you ask, "Because I can hire someone…"

"No," she tells you, "I don't need help. Blythe's nanny is here, and she's been helping with Nathan."

"Allison!" Robert's voice is so loud that you can hear him loud and clear over the phone, "Allison, the baby needs to be changed."

You can almost see her exhaustion when she speaks again, "I want to see Blythe," she says, and she sounds lost.

"Why don't you and Nathan come here, tomorrow?" you offer, and keep your mouth shut about your feelings about Robert. You have no room to judge, no room to say anything. You were horrible to her.

"Yeah," she agrees, "I…okay. Thank you," and the phone goes dead before you have a chance to respond.

Cameron shows up at your apartment at eleven the next morning. She looks like hell, big dark circles under her eyes and skin so pale you can see her veins. Nathan is in his carseat, you take the baby and the diaper bag from her, and she stumbles over to the couch and sinks down.

Blythe is so happy to see her, she crawls into Cameron's lap and puts her little hands on Cameron's cheeks and finally, you see her smile and tuck Blythe into her arms. You stand in the doorway, holding Nathan's car seat stupidly before you finally set it down. He is asleep, and you decide he can stay there until he wakes up.

Cameron lies down on the couch and Blythe snuggles in around her, eager to see her mother and she keeps kissing her and hugging her and telling her all about the daycare at the hospital and about everything the two of you do. Cameron listens for as long as she can, and when she starts to nod off, you move her and Blythe to your bedroom and tuck them in. Blythe naps in her mother's arms, content.

Nathan wakes up while they are still asleep, and you find a bottle in the diaper bag for him. You maneuver him out of the car seat and into your arms, and you sit on the couch and feed him awkwardly. He watches you with Cameron's eyes, and you are glad, because if you saw Robert staring back at you you might not love him as much as you already do.

You watch him as he drinks from the bottle and you wish you had memories of Blythe to compare this to. You don't know when he's had enough, so you stop when he does, and then you change his diaper. It bulges a little, but it's on, and it shouldn't leak too badly.

When Nathan falls back to sleep, you peek in your room. Your girls are still sound asleep under the covers, and you smile and wish you had a camera for this moment.

Blythe wakes before Cameron and you motion her into the living room, telling her to be quiet so that mama can sleep. You let her sit with Nathan, and you help her hold him. She has never met her brother before, and she looks both impressed and a little fearful.

"Do you still love me?" she asks you when Nathan is tucked back in his car seat to sleep again – you don't remember Blythe sleeping this much, but of course you were not around.

You startle and look up from the peanut butter and jelly sandwich you are making her, "Of course I love you, sweetheart," you say, and realize this is the first time you've told her directly.

"Even though Nathan is here?" she wonders, taking a bite of the offered sandwich and watching you with big eyes.

"Even though Nathan is here," you reassure her, and to prove it, you scoop her out of her seat and tickle her until she smiles.

Cameron stumbles out of the bedroom at seven that night, her hair sweaty and tangled and her clothes wrinkled. You think she's never looked more perfect. You are sitting on the couch with Nathan in your arms and Blythe curled against your side, silent while your daughter mimics Dora.

"Good morning, sleeping beauty," you tease, smirking at Cameron's stunned look. You nod at the fridge, "Dinner," you say simply, "just stick it in the microwave, okay?"

She doesn't seem to know what to say, so she shakes her head to clear the sleep and pads to the kitchen to reheat dinner. She eats mechanically, and while she looks better than she did when she arrived, she still doesn't look i good /i and when she gathers up Nathan, it's all you can do to not kiss her and ask her to stay.

"Can I come home with you, mama?" Blythe asks, and you'd feel jealous if you didn't know better. She doesn't love you any less, she just misses her momma. Cameron shoots you a plaintive look, and you lean down to talk to Blythe.

"Can you stay with me a couple more days?" you ask her, "I wanted to finish decorating your room, and I need your help picking things out. I might get the wrong things, and then where would we be?"

Blythe giggles and nods, gives you a hug, and the crisis is averted.

"He's beautiful," you tell her as she leaves, pointing at the baby who is now watching you with dark eyes.

Cameron nods and exhales, running too-thin fingers through her tangled hair. She opens her mouth as if she wants to say something, but snaps her jaw shut before any words come out. She settles for a simple, "Thanks," and shifts Nathan's seat in her hands before she turns and leaves.

"You can come back tomorrow, if you want," you offer hesitantly, and she turns around and gives you the first real smile you've seen from her in a long time.

"Yeah," she says, "I'll see you tomorrow."


	9. Chapter 9

You and Blythe stay up until midnight, watching stupid cartoons. You feed her way too much ice cream, and then you give her a bag of M&M's. She falls asleep on the couch, a satisfied smile on her face and you pick her up and balance her sleeping form carefully in the cradle of your arm, your other hand clutching your cane.

You hate that you can't just pick up your petite daughter and carry her to bed like Superdad, that it takes so much effort to carry her those few feet. Unfortunately, the reality of your ability as a father smacks you in the face daily, and your refusal of physical therapy is the least of your screwups.

Cameron arrives at nine the next morning, and Blythe is still sleeping, the last of her sugar buzz draining from her.

She's holding on to Nathan's car seat like it's her lifeline, "Hi," she says, almost shyly, and you smile at her, opening the door for her.

"You eat?" you ask her, and she nods. She looks better than she did yesterday, but she's still wobbly, and you wonder if she looked this exhausted when Blythe was a newborn. Why can't you remember?

You take her hand against your better judgment and pull her into your bedroom. She follows you willingly, and you are amazed she trusts you so implicitly. You drop her hand and take the baby's car seat from her. You set it down next to the bed before you crawl in, holding your arms out for her. You're moving on autopilot, because if you let your brain register what you're doing, you'll stop. She's married, and not to you.

You don't know if you're surprised or ecstatic when she crawls into your arms, pillowing her head on your bicep. She sighs, and closes her eyes and you wrap your arms around her and do everything you can to Not Think, because that will ruin this.

"Blythe won't be up for another hour at least," you whisper, your breath warm against her skin, "You aren't sleeping enough. You need to rest."

Cameron nods wordlessly and you feel her body relax in your arms and you want to stay awake just to feel, because you didn't realize how much you missed her until this exact moment.

The next thing you register is Nathan's tinny cry, and you carefully slide your arm out from under Cameron, hoping she'll stay asleep. You move as fast as your leg will allow, and you pick up the tiny baby. A month early plus Cameron's genetics means that Nathan is five pounds at best; you try vainly to remember if Blythe was ever this small. You carry Nathan into the living room and fish a bottle out of his diaper bag, heating it and feeding him with just a little more grace than you did yesterday.

You just might get the hang of this yet, you think, and you try to forget how good it felt to have Cameron back in your arms.

Nathan is halfway through his bottle when Blythe finally joins you on the couch. You grab a pillow, situate Nathan in her arms, and help her feed him. She looks delighted with this change in events, and she smiles at him while he eats.

"I sort of like having a little brother," she admits to you, holding the bottle carefully. She gives you a sideways glance and mumbles, "Maybe Nathan and Mama could move in here with us."

"You and Nathan and Mama live with Robert," you tell her, even though you don't like it, "but you can visit me whenever you want."

You see Blythe's lip start to tremble, but Cameron wakes up and comes in just in time. Her gaze softens when she sees Nathan propped up in Blythe's little arms, and she smiles at her daughter.

"You gonna be my big helper?" she asks, avoiding your gaze and sitting down on Blythe's other side, "When Nathan finishes eating, we can go home and see daddy. He only had to work this morn—"

Blythe's cry cuts her off, "I want to stay with my real daddy," she snaps with more venom than you've heard from her, ever, "You take Nathan home," she says, "So daddy can spend time with his real son, and I will stay here and spend time with my real daddy."

Cameron looks like she's going to cry and you are astounded at your child. You don't know whether to scold her or hug her, so you do neither. You meet Cameron's gaze finally, and the look in her eyes is all ice and fire. Neither of you respond to Blythe's words, and that's probably not the smartest thing you can do, but you honestly don't know what to say.

You let Blythe finish giving Nathan his bottle in dead silence, and then you send her to her room to play. Cameron buckles Nathan into his car seat and stares daggers at you.

"What did you say to her, Greg?" she asks finally, her voice hard.

"I didn't say anything," you say hotly, "She heard Robert. She probably heard you. She's not stupid, Cameron."

Cameron opens her mouth to snap back at you, but before she can think of a comeback, she dissolves into tears. You open your arms on impulse, but she doesn't move, her hand over her face as she sobs. You finally go to her, and take her in your arms because you can't stand to see her cry anymore.

Slowly, she calms down and gives you a few pitiful hiccups, "You're right," she says, and her voice is muffled by your shirt, "You didn't have to say anything to her. I don't think you would do that to her."

"I didn't," you tell her honestly, "She told me she heard him say something about Nathan, how Robert was so happy to have a real son. She told me she was real, Cameron. She looked like he broke her heart."

A sniffle and then, "He knew we came as a package deal when we met," she says, like it means something, "I never lied to him, he knew I had a daughter from day one. He KNEW I had a daughter," she repeats, and you don't know what to tell her, so you say nothing.

She signs heavily and pulls away, "I'm taking her home," she says, firmly, "Robert just needs to spend some time with her. He's just over-excited about the new baby, and all the stress when Nathan was born caught up to him. He doesn't mean it."

"Who are you trying to convince?" you ask simply.

"No one," Cameron snaps, "He just…needs to remember. She was his little girl until you came back. Now he feels like he's second to you in her life, no wonder he's acting like this."

You jaw drops, "You think this is i my /i fault? I'm not the one that only wants to spend time with his biological child, Cameron. I screwed up, I admit that. I should have never left you. But I'm here now, and I'm trying."

"I know," she says softly, "but you're ruining Blythe's life."

You don't even know what to say. It's all you can to just stand there and stare at her, mouth agape, your whole body trembling. She wouldn't say that, she wouldn't do that….you just got Blythe back, and you can't survive losing her again.

"I'm ruining Blythe's life," you repeat dully, "Stop lying and tell me what this is really about. Robert being an asshole has nothing to do with me."

She says nothing, just watches you warily, her hands cupped around the bar of his carrier.

You take the baby from her and you set the car seat down gently before you take her chin in your hand and move her face to yours.

"I never should have left," you tell her firmly and if your voice is trembling, you'll never admit it, "I did, and I regret it every day. But I could love him," you say, and you nod at the carrier, "just as much as I love Blythe. Just as much as I love i you." /i 

Cameron's jaw quivers and you see her fighting to stay angry, to be mad at you because it's easier than being mad at her husband. As soon as you see her resolve crack, you tip her head to yours and you kiss her.

She struggles against you for ten seconds too long and then melts into your arms, wrapping her arms around your neck and twining her fingers in your hair and kissing you back. Oh god, you never want her to leave, you never want to leave.

You let your tongue tease at her lips and she opens her mouth to you and you think you could die. She is kissing you like you're the only thing keeping her alive, and it's all you can do to just hold onto her and try to calm your racing thoughts.

Nathan's cry interrupts you and she pulls back like she's been burned, her hands to her lips, eyes wide. She busies herself with Nathan, slipping the pacifier between his lips and snuggling the blanket around him.

"Get Blythe," she said softly, "I'm taking my daughter home."

You kneel down awkwardly next to her, "She can stay here as long as…"

"No. I want her to come home now. I won't do this, I won't take Nathan's father away from him. Go get my daughter," she says firmly. Her voice sounds sure, but you know how to read her now and her eyes tell you a completely different story.

You find Blythe in her bedroom, working on a book, and you take her in your arms and tell her it's time to go home. She bursts into tears and you cuddle her against you, holding on tight. You don't want her to go either, but you can't tell her that.

"Daddy misses you," you try, instead, "And now you can help Mommy with Nathan. And you can still visit me, Blythe, I'll still pick you up and we'll have fun."

She doesn't believe you, and she slides off your lap and stomps to Cameron, who takes her hand and pulls her away. She loads the children into the car efficiently and drives way without looking at you.

You wonder when you fell in love with all three of them.


	10. Chapter 10

You and Blythe stay up until midnight, watching stupid cartoons. You feed her way too much ice cream, and then you give her a bag of M&M's. She falls asleep on the couch, a satisfied smile on her face and you pick her up and balance her sleeping form carefully in

Cameron avoids your phone calls for a week, and you're debating just going over there and demanding your time with Blythe when Robert finally answers the phone.

"I want to see my daughter," you tell him, without preamble.

He chuckles, "I don't care, come get her. She and Allison should be back from the store in a couple of minutes. I don't care if you take your child."

You should be thrilled that it's that easy, but you can't help but be mad on Blythe's behalf. Robert should care more, Robert should be fighting you for time with her like a father, not handing her over like he doesn't love her.

"You don't care," you repeat, "You don't care if I come pick up the little girl you raised, who calls your daddy?"

"Come get her," he tells you and you wonder how Cameron ever fell in love with him. He's a better actor than you will ever be, "I never thought I'd date a single mom, much less marry one. It wasn't so bad at first, she's little and quiet. But now Nathan's here, and I have more important things to do with my time than baby-sit someone else's child."

Your knuckles are white around the phone and you close your eyes against the red haze you're seeing, "Fine," you manage to bite out, "I will be there in an hour and a half," and you hang up before he can respond.

You are tempted to whip the phone at the wall, but that's really not going to help anything so instead you dig out Blythe's birthday gifts and call the bakery. You were going to wait until her birthday next week, but you and your daughter can celebrate tonight. She deserves it, and you want to see her smile.

You pick up Blythe from a stony silent Cameron.

"If you want to see her," she says to you after Blythe is buckled in and the car door shut, "You call me, do you understand? I don't want you talking to my husband."

"Because he's not lying anymore?" you snipe, "How do you expect Blythe to grow up in that house with him, with that attitude? I would have called you, but you weren't answering your phone."

"He doesn't say anything around her," she says wearily, rubbing her eyes. You aren't surprised that she does not answer your implied question. i Why won't you talk to me? /i 

"You look like shit, Cameron," you say before you think, "Are you getting any sleep at all?"

"What do you care?" she snaps, then seems to fold in on herself, "I'll be fine when Nathan starts sleeping through the night."

"I'm having a thing for Blythe," you tell her, "For her birthday. I got a cake and some presents and it's just me. But if you and Nathan want to come…" i it could be a family thing… /i 

"I'll ask Robert," she says, and shifts the baby in her arms.

"Since when do you ask permission to do anything, Cameron?"

"Robert doesn't want me around you," she says, and she sounds resigned.

"Fine," you say, trying to stay calm, "You ask your husband if you can celebrate your daughter's birthday, and you let me know. We'll be home all night," you finish, and get into your car, driving away without looking back.

You stop at the bakery and pick up the little cake and you tease Blythe the whole way home because you will not show her what you got. You let her into the apartment and she goes straight for her room, checking to make sure everything is just as she left it. While she is in her room, you open the cake and put four candles on it and light them, waiting for Blythe to come into the kitchen.

When she sees the cake she claps and squeals and runs over to you. You pull her onto your good leg so she can make a wish and blow out the candles.

She's supposed to keep her wish to herself but you hear her whisper, "Please let me live with daddy forever," before she blows out the candles, and you swallow hard.

You need to talk to Cameron about longer visitation. More visitation, maybe every other weekend and some days in-between. It wouldn't be fair to make her have two schools, so you can't have her during the week...maybe you need to talk Cameron into leaving her husband and coming back to you.

When the candles are blown out, you move the cake off to the side and let Blythe rip into her presents. You've never done this birthday thing before, so you might have gone overboard, you're not sure.

Soon, your tiny daughter is buried in a mound of wrapping paper and toys. There are stuffed animals for the net that goes above her bed, there's a doll that's supposed to talk, and a Dora doll that talks and moves. There are books, and there is a box of stolen supplies from PPTH. You couldn't find a lab coat in her size, but you did steal a set of child-sized scrubs from the pediatrics wing. You bought her a Leapfrog reading pad and every single story that went with it, because your daughter is starting kindergarten already knowing how to read if you have to teach her yourself.

What's scary is that you are excited to. You are excited to curl up with Blythe and teach her words, you are excited to show her how that stethoscope works, you don't even mind that the Dora doll you got for her keeps saying "Hola, Amigos!" even though she's turned it off twice.

The smile on Blythe's face is contagious and you can't help returning it as you hand her cake. The slice of cake is twice what you would expect a child of her size to eat, but you're not really surprised when it disappears and then your sugared up daughter puts on the scrubs and drapes the stethoscope around her neck and puts three tongue depressors in her pocket.

"Sit on the couch, Daddy," she tells you, pointing, "because you are sick, and Dr. Blythe will make you better."

You don't know how to tell her she already has.


	11. Chapter 11

July turns into August and you hardly ever see Cameron. More often than not, Blythe's nanny meets you at the door when you pick up your daughter, and Cameron and Nathan are never in sight.

You get the distinct feeling you are being avoided without actually being avoided, because Cameron is holding up her end of the visitation agreement. She agreed to every other weekend – Friday after school until Sunday after dinner – and Wednesday afternoons every week. It's not really enough, but you take what you can get.

You think you should feel guilty asking for anything, but you have three years of Blythe's life to make up for and you don't know that you'll ever be able to explain to Cameron, or even to yourself, what happened. You wish you knew why you pushed them away, and on the weekends without Blythe, when you sit at home alone and watch your TiVo'd soap operas, you try to figure out what when wrong.

You miss her. You miss seeing Cameron, even for those few minutes on Blythe exchange days. You want her in your arms at night, you want to wake up with Nathan at two am and rock him back to sleep. You want to be there on Blythe's first day of kindergarten, hell, you want to be there on Nathan's first day of kindergarten.

You just want your family.

It's the last weekend in August – your weekend without Blythe – and you're sitting on the couch with your leg propped up. You can't be a father addicted to Vicodin, and you're not willing to compromise your time with Blythe to detox all at once. So you cut back, one less pill a week, and you count them. It hurts, but you think this is probably the best way for everyone. You don't mind with Blythe mimics your limp (it's actually horribly adorable), but you don't want her picking up on your other faults.

When someone knocks on your door, you nearly jump off the couch. You are expecting no one, you haven't even ordered dinner. You're ashamed to admit that Blythe is really all you have, and sometimes you wonder how you survived the three years without her. You've thought in passing about trying to get in touch with Wilson, but Tritter fucked everything up – if you're honest, YOU fucked everything up, and you doubt he wants to see you.

You move your leg off the table and grab your cane, heading to the door. You peer out the peephole, your heart jumps to your throat, and you scramble to unlock the door. You pull it open and meet Cameron's exhausted gaze. She shrugs and shakes her head and you motion them inside. Your little daughter doesn't even hug you, she just walks straight past you to her room and you hear the door click shut.

Nathan in bawling in his car seat and Cameron drops to the couch, picking him up and shushing him. You realize then that it doesn't look like Nathan was the only one crying, and you leave Cameron and Nathan in your living room to go talk to Blythe.

When you open her bedroom door, you don't see her. The initial panic goes away when you see her little pink socks peeking out from under her bed.

"Blythe?"

"Go away!" she shrieks, and you see her feet tuck up under the bed, "You don't love me either!"

"What happened, sweetheart?" you ask, painfully sinking to your knees and then stretching out so you're lying on the floor, looking under the bed.

"NO!" she shouts, and turns her head so that she's not looking at you, "OUT!"

"Blythe…"

Her little shoulders are shaking with sobs and you want to reach under the bed and pull her out. But you know your child now, and you know how similar you are. Pulling her out and making her talk to you is just going to make things worse.

"Alright, Blythe," you tell her quietly, "I'm going to go into the living room, alright?" You reach on top of her bed and get her doll, "Here is Dora, if you want someone to talk to. And if you want to talk to me, you just come right out there and tell me, okay? I promise I will listen."

You rise painfully to your knees and use her bed to boost you to your feet carefully before going into the living room. Cameron is feeding Nathan, and you sit down across from her and raise your eyebrow.

"Gonna tell me what's going on?" you ask simply, and she looks up from Nathan to meet your eyes.

"I left," she says, and you can see her shoulders trembling, "I left him. I can't do this to Blythe."

You wish you knew what to think. You wanted this, you wanted her to leave him. But your daughter is in her room sobbing like someone broke her heart, and Cameron looks exhausted and scared, her cheeks bright red and you hate the way her lower lip won't stop quivering.

Nathan finishes his bottle, and Cameron tucks him back into his car seat, her hands shaking. He fusses for a minute, then settles down, watching you with dark eyes.

Cameron drops her head between her knees, her hands on her forehead. You rub her back because you don't know what else to do. You want details, but something about the whole situation makes you think you're not going to like the details, and you're really not interested in going to jail for killing Robert.

She is silent for a solid ten minutes and you stay next to her, smoothing her hair back away from her face and rubbing her back. When she finally lifts her eyes to yours, she looks lost and helpless and miserable. You drag her closer to you and she tucks her head into the curve of your shoulder. She's not trembling anymore.

"You can stay here, if you need to," you whisper and she nods against your chest.

"Thank you," she mumbles, "I didn't bring anything. I…" she clenches her eyes shut and you notice her little hands are fists, "I just took them. I couldn't stay."

"What happened?" you finally ask, because you have to know.

"He pushed her," her voice is so quiet you can barely hear her, "He pushed her away from the baby. She loves Nathan so much, she just wanted to give him her doll…and Robert was holding him," her voice breaks, "He told her to get away from his son and he pushed her," she says again, like she can't even believe it, "She hit her head on the coffee table. He didn't mean to push her so hard…it doesn't matter."

Every single bone in your body wants to go to Robert's house. Your jaw is locked so tightly it is starting to hurt, and the expression seeing red suddenly has new meaning. It is taking every ounce of self control you have to not shove Cameron off your lap and drive straight to Robert's and fucking wring his neck.

You stand up from the couch, silently removing your arm from Cameron and you walk into Blythe's room.

"Blythe. Up, now," you order and you see her little face peek out from under the bed, "I need to see you."

She whimpers and crawls out, and when you extend your hand to her, she flinches.

"Real daddies don't push their daughters," you tell her, and you motion for her to come to you. She does, and you turn her in your arms so that you can look at her head. You find the spot easily – she's going to have a lump, and it's already black and blue where her head connected with the coffee table.

"You need some ice for that," you murmur to her, turning her back around in your arms and scooping her up, "I'm so sorry, Blythe. I'm so sorry."

"I can live with you?" she asks pitifully, her head tucked against your chest.

"You can live with me," you tell her firmly, "I'm not letting you go back there."

You stand up with Blythe clinging to your neck and you take her into the kitchen and find your ice pack for her. You wrap it in a towel and she takes it, casts a wary look at Cameron and Nathan and goes back to her room without comment.

Cameron is clinging to Nathan like he's her lifeline, and you finally go back to the couch to talk to her.

"I'm not letting you take Blythe back there," you tell her, "I don't care what Robert did for her when she was a baby."

"I don't want her back there," Cameron says, and her voice is so small, "I don't want to go back there."

"Okay," you tell her, "Come here," and she crawls into your arms, shifting the baby carefully, and she starts to cry again.

You wanted your family back, but not like this.


	12. Chapter 12

After dinner, you get Blythe ready to go the store, and leave Cameron and Nathan curled up in front of the TV. You like the picture the two of them make, the baby curled against Cameron, his little head tucked under her chin. In the dim light from the TV, you can't see how red her eyes are, the tear tracks aren't as evident against her pale skin. You try to pretend for a moment that that is your baby curled up with her, and that today didn't happen.

It hits you while you're tying Blythe's shoes that you truly don't care that he's not yours. Because he could be, and that is good enough for you. That his eyes don't match yours and that his nose is rounded at the tip are really nonessential issues as far as you're concerned.

Cameron wrote you a list of things Nathan was going to need and you clutch it gratefully. You can't help but remind yourself that you should KNOW the things a baby needs without having a list, but now is not really the time to focus on that. You are painfully aware of your screw ups, you remind yourself every day, but for all your indifference and noninvolvement, you never hurt either of them. Not physically, at least.

Maybe what you did was worse.

You buckle Blythe into her car seat and go to the store, where you give your daughter entirely far too much reign over what things you purchase for Nathan. She points out things he has that she knows about, and you buy a playpen for him to sleep in, and diapers. You're standing in the checkout when a little old lady comes up to you and compliments you on your beautiful daughter.

"So nice of you and Big Sister to go shopping for the baby, let him stay home and rest with his momma," the woman adds and Blythe beams under the attention.

"I picked out clothes for him!" she tells her enthusiastically, and you shush your daughter before she opens her mouth and announces anything just too personal – like why you had to buy clothes for him at 8 at night.

You pay for the baby things – and honestly, you'd rather spend the money now than try to go back to the Andrews house tonight and get Nathan's things. You think they might find Robert dead on the floor, a mysterious cane-shaped bruise on the back of his head.

You buckle Blythe into her car seat and you're struck with the realization that you can do this without thought now, that the little snaps and buckles all fit together just right, and you no longer have to think about each movement.

You struggle to your door with too many bags and the playpen in it's box and open the door. Blythe runs inside and you glance to the couch. Cameron and Nathan aren't there, and you panic. Did you see Cameron's car out front still? She wouldn't have gone back to the house…she wouldn't leave Blythe, not to go back to Robert…

You usher Blythe into her room and you move as fast as you can throughout your apartment, looking for them.

They're in the last place you really expected to find them. Cameron has lined up pillows on the edge of your bed and is asleep, laying on her side. Nathan is tucked carefully in the curve of her arm, protected. Her shirt looks familiar and it takes you a moment to identify it as yours – she must have pulled it out of your drawer before they crawled into bed.

As quietly as you can, you open the playpen and set it up next to the bed. You take the baby out of her arms and carry him into the living room to change his diaper and dress him in the pajamas Blythe picked out. Blythe is waiting for a bedtime story, and you oblige her by both reading "The Velveteen Rabbit" and letting her hold Nathan while you do.

You don't think about the connection to the book and your life until you close it and Blythe kisses you on the cheek.

"I'm glad you're my real daddy," she says and you smile and kiss her and take Nathan out of her arms.

"Get some sleep, sweetheart," you tell her, "Tomorrow, we can make mommy waffles before I have to go to work, okay?"

Blythe nods enthusiastically and you pull the covers up over her and snuggle her in before you take Nathan into the living room.

"Real means you are loved," you mumble to him, "and you are loved."

You give him another bottle, and he falls asleep halfway through, long eyelashes fluttering over his baby round cheeks. He is a beautiful baby; he's part of Cameron. You can't help but love him.

He settles nicely into the playpen, not waking up and you strip off your jeans and dress shirt but leave your boxers and t-shirt on before you crawl into bed yourself. In her sleep, Cameron instinctively rolls towards you and you gather her into your arms, placing a gentle kiss on her forehead.

Your children are sleeping peacefully, and you've got the woman you love back in your arms Even though you're not sure what's going on, really, or what tomorrow's going to bring, you're content, as long as you don't think about the reason they are here.

Tomorrow when you're done with work, you'll bring home dinner and when the kids are sleeping you can talk to Cameron. Find out what she wants to do, what needs to be done.

But right now, you can sleep and pretend like today didn't happen, and just concentrate on the sleeping woman in your arms.


	13. Chapter 13

You wake up before everyone else does, the pain in your thigh a better alarm clock than anything you've discovered yet. Cameron hasn't moved from your arms, only moved closer, and you try to fight the pain in your leg so you don't have to move away from her.

Finally, you give in and roll away from her, taking a single Vicodin. The medicine kicks in, and you carefully get out of bed. You are surprised to find the baby still asleep – hadn't Cameron told you he wasn't sleeping well? – but you leave him snuggled in his playpen and go to check on Blythe.

"Wake up, honey," you whisper, "Come make waffles with me," and your little girl perks up almost immediately and gives you a wide smile.

"Mornin' Daddy!" she chirps and hops out of bed. Sometimes, you miss being four. She picks out her outfit, and you help her in the bathroom, carefully brushing her hair so you don't pull it, especially at the horrible bump she's got. You move the hair to the side and look at the wound. It's not bad, just a bruised lump, but it makes your stomach roll when you think about how she got it. You push those thoughts to the back of your head; you'll be no good to Cameron or to your children if all you can think about is revenge.

You leave Blythe's hair hanging down in curls because you still haven't mastered those butterfly clips that she loves, and you don't like her looking like you did her hair with an egg beater.

You're finishing up a nice stack of waffles and frying bacon when Cameron pads sleepily into the kitchen, rubbing her eyes. Her eyes soften when she sees you and Blythe making a mess of your kitchen and she comes over to kiss her daughter on the forehead.

"Nathan's still asleep," she tells you, her eyes surprised, "He never sleeps this long. He always wakes up at night and cries."

You shrug, and you want to say i well, now he knows he's not living with an asshole /i but instead you say, "I fed him when Blythe and I came home last night, so maybe that's why."

She nods and you can tell she doesn't think that's why, but now is not the time to discuss, "Sit, eat. Blythe and I cooked," and you give Blythe a plate to bring to her mother.

"I have to be at work in an hour. Do you want to stay here with Nathan and Blythe or should I take Blythe to daycare?"

Cameron accepts the plate from Blythe and pulls the little girl into her lap, "I want her here," she says, taking a bite and handing her daughter a fork, "I'll stay here with them. I don't think Robert has your address."

You're glad to hear that, and it makes you feel like they're a little safer.

Nathan wakes up halfway through breakfast, and you let Cameron finish eating while you change his diaper and put on clean clothes. You head into the living room, swapping Nathan for some coffee, and then you shower quickly. You're not anxious to get to work, but the sooner you get in and get everything finished, the sooner you can be home with them.

"I'll bring dinner tonight," you offer, "and when the kids are asleep, we can talk?"

She nods, looking up from feeding Nathan, "Alright. I'll see you tonight."

You hate leaving your children today, you want to stay home and do everything you can to keep them safe. You're halfway to work when you realize you've already started thinking about Nathan like he's yours.

The day drags, and you find yourself checking the clock obsessively. Finally, at five, you leave the building at the closest thing you've got to a run. You pick up a pizza and head home, surprised at the nervous anticipation in your stomach.

Blythe is sitting next to Nathan, explaining the pictures in her book to him while Cameron watches them, a smile on her face. It's obvious that Blythe loves her baby brother and he's entirely enthralled by her voice. You like the way your heart tightens at the sight of them, and you think that this is something you could get used to.

"Dinner's on," you finally speak up, and Cameron and Blythe join you at the table. Blythe explains to Nathan the perils of eating pizza at 2 and a half months, then digs into her own slice, grinning broadly.

After dinner, you curl up with the three of them and watch a movie, and then Cameron feeds Nathan and tucks him in while you help Blythe brush her teeth and read her a story. You are surprised how easy it is to fall into a routine with Cameron, that the two of you are able to care for Nathan and Blythe with such compatibility.

When the children are in bed, you meet Cameron at the kitchen table and there is a horrible awkward silence. The ease from tonight is gone and now she just looks uncomfortable and scared. You sit down – your thigh is screaming at you, but you don't want to think about it – and you point at the chair across from you. She sits and stares at her hands for a solid minute before she speaks.

"So," she says softly, "I need a lawyer."

Feet first, jumping into this. She may be a wife, but she is a mother first, and you can see how protective she is, and how distraught she is that she let it stew as long as it did. Long enough for Blythe to be painfully aware of just how much Robert didn't want her, enough to make her second guess love, and then enough to have her pushed away from her little brother. You're glad Cameron left when she did.

"Okay," you tell her, "I don't work tomorrow. We'll find you one."

Cameron nods, dropping her head into her hands, "I almost took her away from you," she mumbles, looking ashamed, "I thought if Robert was her only father…maybe he would love her more. Maybe if it were just him again, he wouldn't care that she wasn't biologically his…but I see her with you, and I couldn't do it. I couldn't take you away from her any more than I could take her away from you."

You stiffen at her admission, and you have to close your eyes for a few moments so you don't blow up. You can't fault her reasoning, but it hurts to hear her say it.

"I'm glad you didn't," you say, reaching across the table and running your fingers over her arm until she drops her hand to the table. You twine your fingers with hers and meet her eyes, "You will be okay. They will be okay. Tomorrow, we'll talk to a lawyer, see what the next step is. I'll go with you."

"Thank you," she whispers, "You don't have to do this."

You don't. You don't have to love her, and you survived three years without Blythe. Nathan's not even yours, you really don't have to love him. You just…can't help it. You can't remember what you did before you had Blythe back, and you don't want to.

"I just want to see you smile again," you mumble, horrible at the sentimental and she glances up and gives you a little smile.

"I think I'm on my way."

You fall asleep together that night, Cameron in your t-shirt, tucked in your arms. You drop a kiss on her forehead when she is asleep and steel your resolve. You don't want to push her; you're not going to push her. Divorcing Robert is going to be hard enough without you on the side whining at her, and you're not sure you deserve a second chance anyway.


	14. Chapter 14

You never thought you'd like another lawyer, but Nadia is intelligent, efficient and quick witted. She seems positive about Cameron's petition for full custody, and she praises your foresight in taking a picture of Blythe's head. Cameron wants this cut and dry and done with as soon as possible, and you are beginning to think there's more to her leaving him than just the situation with Blythe. That him pushing her was the straw that broke the camel's back, and that there's a whole other separate issue.

But you don't bring it up. Instead you are the perfect…you don't know what you are. You help take care of Nathan, you drive Blythe to her Kindergarten class, you pick up dinner three times a week and at night, you and Cameron fall asleep in each other's arms. To anyone observing, they'd think you were dating. But you don't try to kiss her, and you don't push the relationship, because you have no idea what Cameron wants from you.

Robert comes over to pick up Nathan on his afternoon. When he knocks, Cameron takes Blythe and goes into her room to play while you pack up Nathan in his car seat and take your time answering the door.

"Dr. House," Robert says stiffly, extending his hand. You scoff at him and set Nathan's carrier down in front of you.

"The court says you can have him for the afternoon. Have my son home at five," you tell him firmly, and you like the way his eyes widen.

" i Your /i son, Dr. House?" he asks icily, picking up the carrier. Nathan looks from him to you and back to Robert and promptly bursts into tears.

"My son," you said, "Or he will be, when this is over. Have him back at five. Bottles are in the diaper bag. Don't screw it up."

You shut the door in his face because you can't take watching Nathan cry, and you know there's nothing you can do to stop Robert's visitation. You wonder if this is how he felt the first day you met Blythe, but you are pretty sure he was never as doting as he pretended to be.

When Robert and Nathan are gone, you go find Cameron and Blythe in Blythe's room. Blythe is reading to her mother, carefully sounding out the bigger words and Cameron is doing a fantastic job of pretending to listen.

You clear your throat and Cameron jumps, "He gone? Did he take him? Did he promise to have him back at five?"

She's horribly nervous about Robert taking Nathan for the day, and she really wasn't happy when she found out that Robert had been given your address as her primary. She didn't want him to know where she was.

"I told him five. If he's not here at 5:15, I'll find him myself," you promise, then look to your daughter, "You're reading well, Blythe. Can I listen too?"

Four years olds, even observant ones like Blythe, can be distracted. If you keep her focused on her reading, she's not going to notice Cameron's white face and tightly drawn mouth…or so you tell yourself.

She finishes the book and sets it down, eyeing you both critically, "Do you need a nap?" she asks her mother, "You look sleepy. Do you want to lie down?"

Empathy was never your strong suit, so it always catches you off guard when your daughter does things like that, when she brings Nathan his pacifier before he starts to cry, or snuggles with Cameron right before she starts to shake. Emotions are running high in your apartment, and sometimes you worry your little child is the only thing keeping everyone sane.

Cameron looks at Blythe with surprised eyes, "Is that okay? Do you want to come lay down with me?" she gathers Blythe into her arms, "I loved your reading, sweetheart. I'm so proud. You can read to me again after dinner, okay?"

"I will!" Blythe chirps happily and crawls off her mother's lap, "I will practice reading while you sleep, mama." She is so independent sometimes. Too well behaved for someone so young.

Cameron kisses Blythe and you follow her into the kitchen. She makes a cup of tea and instead of going to bed, she sits down at the kitchen table. In the bright light from the kitchen, her skin looks impossibly pale, the dark circles under her eyes not covered by the make up she usually applies.

"I don't like that he has him, all by himself," she says softly, "He…for all his claims that Nathan was he, he's never fed him or changed him. He doesn't know what to do when he cries."

You want to tell her that's because he's an asshole, but so were you. You hate the parallels you can so easily draw between your behavior and Robert's. You don't want to remind yourself of what you did, but you don't want to forget either. You wonder how Cameron and Blythe forgave you so easily.

"We won't leave it at this," you promise her, "This isn't over. Your divorce isn't finalized; visitation isn't firmly established. Don't worry, Robert's not going to get him."

She nods, staring at her tea. You don't know what else to tell her, it hurts to see her in this much pain, but your hands are tied. You won't risk losing custody of either child because you were too pigheaded and wouldn't let Robert take Nathan on his court appointed day. You hate to admit it, but the best way to win at this is to do exactly what you are instructed.

"I know now's not a great time…" you start, and Cameron looks up.

"What?" she asks tiredly, apparently anticipating a question that's going to lead to a huge long drawn out conversation.

"I…what about your job? When is your maternity leave up? We're going have to think about it before it happens, because I don't have daycare set up fo—"

"I don't have a job," Cameron cuts you off, "Robert…he didn't want me to work while the baby was young. Said he wanted Nathan to have his mother at home, and that I didn't need to be working anyway." She sighs, and it's obvious she wasn't happy with that arrangement, "I agreed to take off the first year, and then we were going to talk about it again."

"Oh," you say, not even bothering to cover your surprise, "You…alright. Is there something you want to do about that, or do you want to continue taking some time off?" you ask carefully. You don't care if she goes back to work or not, you just want what she wants.

She shrugs, "I don't like not working, but everything is such a mess. I have some money put away…maybe it's better that I stay with the kids until this is sorted out. Stay home with Nathan." Her chin quivers and she sighs heavily, "What time is it?"

"It's 2:40, Cameron…stop it. You're going to drive yourself crazy."

Cameron stands up, settling the teacup onto the table with more force than necessary, "I'm already driving myself crazy. My boyfriend leaves my five-month-old daughter and me for absolutely no reason, and I move. I move, and I pick up my entire life and I find Robert, and I get married and I have everything. Everything. I have my baby, and my job, and my husband and then I get pregnant and everything is GOOD for once in my life. Just one time, I get to be happy. And then I write that stupid letter, and you come back in, all…perfect and fatherly and my life falls apart. My husband hates my daughter, my son is born early, and then I have to take my baby away from HIS father because…" she stops and stares at you, horrified.

"If you blame me, does it make you feel better?" you ask quietly, not looking at her, "I did leave, Cameron. I've never pretended to be perfect. Never. And do you think that there is one minute of any day that I can let myself forget that I missed the first three years of Blythe's life? That I was just as big an asshole as Robert is? Because I can't forget, okay? There is nothing I can do for Blythe to make up for what I did. So blame me if it makes you feel better, just know I already beat myself up i every damn day. /i "

Cameron drops back into her chair, her head resting on her hands, "I'm sorry, Greg. I…you're right. Blaming you doesn't making things better. It just makes me mad at the wrong person."

"You have every right to be mad at me, Cameron," you tell her honestly, "I wasn't there for you. I wasn't there for Blythe," you reach for her hand, "I wish I could tell you what I was thinking. I wish I had a reason for leaving. I don't. All I can do now is spend the rest of my life making it up to you and Blythe and Nathan."

Cameron is quiet for several minutes before she finally speaks, "She loves you. She loves you so much. When she was little, when Robert…was himself…before all of this, we talked about it. Talked about whether we wanted to tell her about her father or not." She squeezes your hand and gives you a soft smile before she continues, "I didn't think you'd ever come back. I didn't think you'd ever see her, but I wanted her to know who you were. So I showed her the few pictures I had, and I told her everything I could about you."

You're the one shaking now, and you blink so that Cameron does not see you cry, "Thank you," you manage, hoping she doesn't notice the tremble behind your voice.

"I'm glad I did," she says, "I'm glad she knows you, and I'm glad I ran into you at that conference. Because you deserved a second chance with her, and she deserves to know you."

There is nothing you can say to that, because it is so absolutely Cameron. So like her to be able to forgive you for something she doesn't have to. You dropped out of her life for three years and she let you know Blythe, and you can never repay her for that.

She sighs, and brings your hand to her lips and kisses it softly, "Thank you for being there for us," she whispers, "Thank you for being here for us now. Now is what matters, Greg…we can move forward from here."


	15. Chapter 15

You make every attempt to move forward with your lives. Blythe is enjoying kindergarten, and even her teacher is impressed by her intelligence. She learns quickly and easily, and you worry she's going to be a hellion when she gets a little older. You were that way; learning too fast to stay interested in school, and finding other outlets for your energy.

Nathan is growing too fast, and at his six month checkup hits the 60th percentile in both height and weight for his age group. For a baby who started life at less than five pounds and spent a week in the NICU, the 60th percentile is a good place to be, and you love the way Cameron smiles at him when he babbles.

Cameron wades through divorce papers, custody papers, frivolous arguments against her ability to parent and random things Robert tries to throw at her with a calm grace you're almost jealous of. Robert's been nothing but a jerk and now he won't simply sign the papers and save Cameron a lot of trouble. What he has done is everything in his power to jerk her around, and to make this as difficult as possible, and you hate him for it. When the children are around, you'd never guess there was anything amiss. She smiles, and cuddles Nathan and helps Blythe with her homework. She saves her tears for the bedroom at night, when she thinks no one can hear her.

For your part, you go to work, come home, and do whatever you can to make her life easier. You think that's sort of ironic, and you don't let yourself think about the person you were four years ago. If you dwell on the fact that you were an asshole, you can make this entire situation your fault, and you don't like feeling like that. You'd rather blame Robert, who is still an asshole, because that way you don't feel as guilty.

On Halloween, Blythe dresses up like a doctor, and you shrug innocently when Cameron asks where she got her own stethoscope. Blythe is limping around the house, leaning heavily on her stick, and Cameron gives you a sideways glance and then bursts into laughter. She dresses up poor Nathan like a pea pod, and you try to intervene on his behalf. There were far manlier baby costumes available, and you're sure that Nathan would have chosen one of those.

You take Blythe trick or treating, and you hope you don't run into anyone you really know, because you can't wipe the goofy smile off your face. Blythe is wearing your never-used nametag, and introducing herself as Dr. House and you want everyone to know that she is yours.

When you return home with Blythe, Cameron and Nathan are curled up on the couch watching the Halloween Charlie Brown Special and she is eating the leftover candy that was to be handed out to the trick or treaters.

"Got your own stash?" you question her lightly, as Blythe dumps out her pumpkin filled with candy, "That means you can't have ours," you tell Cameron, and you and Blythe move protectively around the candy while you count it. She organizes the types into piles, and when she's not paying attention, you scan the candy for unwrapped pieces, pieces that look weird, and additional pieces that just look really delicious.

Nathan goes to bed easily, and you kiss him softly before you lay him down. You hate that he's still stuck in the play pen, but he doesn't seem to mind and really, it's no different than a crib. You don't think it's fair to make Blythe share her space, and you idly think that when you move, you're going to need at least a four bedroom house. Having your office in the living room is sort of difficult, especially with all the commotion.

When you move. You sit down on the bed and stare at the sleeping baby. You honestly have no idea what you would do if Cameron left. What you would do without Nathan's little laugh and Blythe's snark. There's no way you could go back to the person you were a year ago, who was content with take out Chinese and TiVo, taking too much Vicodin and who didn't need people. Because you need these people in your life.

You sit on the couch and wait for Cameron to finish tucking Blythe in, and she smiles when she sees you and curls up next to you like she always does. You're a different person than you were when you dated, and she can tell. She never used to initiate contact of any kind, and now it seems like she can't not touch you.

You settle your arm around her and watch the tail end of whatever crappy horror movie TNT is playing and when it ends, she tips her head up to meet you eyes. She's smiling at you and you return her smile and lean down to kiss her without thinking about it. She meets you halfway, and you feel her slim hand come up and rest against your cheek for a moment and then tangle in your hair. You close your eyes and reach for her, pulling her against you without breaking the kiss and you think this is what home feels like.

When you finally pull apart, she rests her forehead against yours and looks at you for a moment before she kisses you again, her arms wrapped around the back of your neck. You feel her smile against your lips and you move away from her long enough to kiss her cheek, that spot behind her ear that makes her purr, her neck. You hear her giggle and you drag her onto your lap, settling her weight on your good leg and she lays her head in the curve of your neck.

"Happy Halloween," she teases.

"Trick or treat?" you laugh, because it's so incredibly lame you can't not say it.

"Treat," she purrs, and licks your ear. Her playful mood doesn't last long, and you're not surprised when she sighs and lays her head back down. You hold her close and try not to think, but then she starts to talk and you can't help it.

"You've changed so much," she murmurs taking your hand in hers, "Everything I used to love about you is still there, but there's so much more now. The way you are with Blythe – with Nathan – you weren't like that four years ago."

"I know," you say simply, "It took me awhile to realize what I was missing. But I know now," you kiss her forehead, "and I plan to do whatever I can to fix it."

"You already have," she whispers, and you are silent. You kiss her softly again, and just hold her, because you can't speak around the lump in your throat.


	16. Chapter 16

The first day of November, you wake up on the couch with Cameron still in your lap, the bowl of Halloween candy overturned on the floor and the candy spilled everywhere. One of your legs is asleep and the other hurts more than you want to admit, and Cameron's head is on your chest. She is sound asleep and you move as slowly as you can, carefully inching the prescription bottle from your pocket. You swallow the pill dry and carefully shift Cameron on your lap.

You don't know when the two of you finally fell asleep, in between the kisses and the gentle words. You hadn't slept together, not in the figurative sense, but you were open and honest and you i talked /i to her, something you never used to do.

You can hear Blythe chattering to Dora in her room, and you carefully lift Cameron off your lap and pick up your cane, moving slowly to your daughter's room.

"Morning, Blythe," you greet her, sitting down on the bed while she plays on the floor.

"Mornin' daddy," she beams, "Did you sleep good with mama on the couch?"

Sometimes you hate that your daughter pays attention to things.

You nod a little uncomfortably and wait for her to continue speaking, because you know she's going to.

Blythe moves Dora around on the carpet for awhile, then looks at you again, "Do you love mama?"

There it is. The million-dollar question. You're not sure how to answer it so you settle for pure honestly, "Yeah, I do."

Blythe squeals happily and crawls into your lap, and you're astonished again that your little girl is so easily able to maneuver around the site of your infarction, even though she never seems to notice.

She is serious now, looking at you and you give her a little half smile to encourage her to say whatever is on her mind.

"Are we going to be a family?" she asks, and you catch the note of suspicion in her voice.

"What's wrong, Blythe? Don't you want…"

"You're not Nathan's real daddy," she says, like that explains everything and really, it does.

"No," you say, "I'm not Nathan's biological father. Do you know what biological means?"

"That means genes," she says, "You get genes from your mommy and your daddy. Genes make you look like your family."

You're speechless for a moment, and you gape at your daughter, "Right," you say slowly, because you can't believe she knows that, "and that can mean real. But real can also be because of other things," you try to explain, "I love Nathan so much that it doesn't matter that he doesn't have my genes. I love him just as much as you."

Blythe looks like she's starting to understand, "But…then why didn't my daddy love me?" she asks in a small voice, and your heart breaks.

"I don't know, sweetheart," you tell her honestly, wrapping your arms around her, "I don't know. But we say that is his loss, because you are so amazing, Blythe, and he's the one missing out."

She nods and tucks her head under your chin, a perfect mimic of her mother, "Okay. If you promise me that you love Nathan, then it's okay with me if we're a family."

You smile against her soft curls, "Thank you, Blythe."

November passes in a flurry, and you and Cameron settle into a comfortable relationship. Nothing really changes; you've already shared a bed for four months, and you are not only Blythe's, but Nathan's father too, in every sense that you are able.

The day before Thanksgiving, Cameron gets a huge envelope in the mail. It's the divorce papers, and they are signed. She is shaking so hard she can't even get the rest of the papers out of the envelope, so you take it from her hands and help her. Robert's suit for full custody was denied, and instead he's to have every other weekend with Nathan and absolutely no contact with Blythe.

To celebrate, you take the children to Dairy Queen for ice cream. You're halfway through your ice cream cone, watching Blythe carefully feed small bites to Nathan when it hits you that this is your life. This is reality.

You think you could cry.

December means decorating your apartment for Christmas for the first time since Stacy, and you let Blythe put the ornaments on the tree. It leads for a very disorganized tree with not a lot of ornaments towards the top, but you really don't care. Cameron lifts her to put the angel on the tree, and Blythe is laughing so hard she can barely balance the angel.

You're flipping through the mail when you see an official looking envelope from the court, and you rip it open, terrified that your life is about to come crashing down. Cameron comes into the room, Nathan on her hip, and snatches the letter from you before you can read it.

"What is it?" you practically shout, no longer surprised at the fear that wells up inside of you at the thought that something could change.

"Nothing," she tries, tucking the letter between herself and Nathan and trying to make an escape.

" i Allison, /i " you snap, "If that's something that concerns you or our children, I need to know. I need to know what's going on!"

She sighs, and nods, setting Nathan down at her feet, "It was for Christmas," she mumbles apologetically, handing you the letter.

You're too angry to think, angry that she's kept something from you when you've been nothing but supportive of absolutely everything that's happened that it takes you a solid minute to comprehend what is on the documents. Finally, three words seem to pop out at you from the paper.

i Blythe Cameron House /i 

The documents fall out of your hand and you stare at Cameron. You don't cry. You don't, especially not in front of her, you tell yourself. You move on autopilot and wrap your arms around her and she squeaks in surprise as your arms tighten around her.

"Marry me."

She pulls back, and now it is her turn to gape at you. Not the reaction she was expecting, but you don't care. You've had the ring in your coat pocket for two weeks, waiting for the right moment, and now its here.

She holds out a trembling hand, smiling and crying all at once and you slide the diamond onto her finger. Nathan claps on the floor, laughing, and Blythe wanders in, "What's going on?"

Her eyes flit to her mother, and she glares at you, "You made mama cry!" she shouts and runs to Cameron.

Cameron laughs and scoops up Blythe in her arms, "No, baby, Daddy didn't make me cry. Not bad cry," she explains, "Good cry."

Blythe seems to know what she means, and she hugs her tightly, then twists in Cameron's arms and launches herself at you. You catch her in one arm, stumbling back a little but managing to retain your balance.

"Will you be our flower girl?" you ask her, kissing her nose, and she agrees, delighted. She wraps her little arms tighter around you and kisses your cheeks, "Now we're going to be a family forever!" she shrieks, delighted.

"Yeah," you mumble against her hair, your eyes on Cameron's, "Yeah, we are."


	17. Chapter 17

You're sitting at work one day, feet up on your desk, kicking ass at Tetris when you realize your life is perfect. It's a realization you thought you'd never have. You've known you were happy, that wasn't a question anymore. But…perfect. Your daughter is amazing, your son is growing like a weed, and your wife…well, she's always been perfect.

Six months into Blythe's kindergarten year, you got a call from the Principal. You were right about your daughter causing trouble in the classroom, but you weren't expecting the offer that the school had for you; they wanted her in second grade. You'd snorted and asked just what they planned to do with a five year old in second grade, they'd responded that she was simply too smart for the lessons in Kindergarten.

You liked that you daughter was a genius; you didn't have a problem with that. But you didn't want her to the be outcast of her class, either. Instead, you moved her to a private school with Direct Instruction, and with that, small groups of students of varying ages who were at the same rate.

Nathan's first word was "Dad" and you were there for it. You were giving him his dinner, actually, and he grinned and pointed at you with his baby spoon and told you, "Dad." You were there for his first step too. And his first tooth.

You and Allison decide that you might as well get the married thing over and done with, and she laughs when you bring home a marriage certificate and ask her what her plans are for Saturday. The wedding at the courthouse is simple, but Blythe is dressed all in purple with little ribbons all over her hair (she did it herself, and she wasn't taking no for an answer) and happily scatters little cloth flowers all over the floor. You're glad the Justice of Peace has a sense of humor and three children at home, and she lets Blythe have her fun.

Allison cries when you slide the ring onto her finger, and you lift her chin gently, "No more crying," you mumble, "I don't like when you cry," and she gives you a smile and a little laugh.

Wilson and his wife and daughter come to your wedding, and you don't see them until you're walking out with Nathan on your hip and Blythe clinging to your hand. You're so shocked you nearly lose your grip on Nathan, and Allison smiles at you and takes the baby from your arms. She smiles at Wilson's wife, and tips her head and the other woman leaves with the little blonde, brown eyed baby boy and you don't even know what to say to Wilson anymore.

You stare at him in silence for almost a solid minute before he finally speaks.

"Never thought Greg House would be speechless," he says and the horrible silence is broken and you can't not hug him. Allison calls and tells you she and Emily – that must be his wife's name – are having a "get to know you" night and that neither of you expect the other anywhere near home for the rest of the night.

You go sit at the bar you always used to go to, and you pull out your wallet and show him Blythe and Nathan and he pulls out pictures of Gregory. When you wipe your eyes, you tell him it's funny, you never used to be allergic to cigarette smoke.

Now you have your wife and children and your best friend back, and you think that is four more people than you have ever deserved.

You think it would be perfect if Allison could work at PPTH again, but she's no longer your underling and there're no openings in anything she's qualified for. There is, however, an opening in Diagnostics at the next nearest hospital and soon she has two Fellows of her own.

You're proud. You remember the doctor she was when she started with you, and it doesn't compare to the doctor she is now. She's more confident, and while she's not any more intelligent, she uses her knowledge better. Somehow, she's managed to retain her calm nature and gentle bedside manner – she's got all of your talents with none of your drawbacks and sometimes, you wonder who is teaching who now.

Robert picks up Nathan every other Friday for the first year of their divorce, and then stops showing up. Mail to his house comes back marked "No longer at this address," and six months later Cameron gets a check in the mail with "Child support" written in the memo and papers giving up rights to Nathan. All she has to do is sign them and take them down to the courthouse, and you can adopt him.

You do it the following day, and three months after that, everyone in your family has the same last name.

Wilson brings over Gregory and he and Nathan play under Blythe's watchful eyes, and Allison and Emily sit on the couch and coo over each other's children while you and Wilson grab a beer at the bar. You're both horribly domesticated and when Emily announces she's pregnant, you're the first one over with chocolate for her and a cigar for Wilson. You tell Allison to wipe that grin off her face, that two is more than enough.

But you don't really mind when, three months later, Allison drops a positive pregnancy test in front of you.


End file.
